


Untitled

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pent-up energy and post-hunt sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Make Kripke Kry" writing meme at ohnokripkedidnt, for momotastic's prompt: Dean/Sam Wallsex. Untitled. Unbeta'ed. No spoilers.

Driving back to the motel from a hunt gone badly, the tension inside the Impala is palpable. Sam sits silent and withdrawn in the passenger seat, posture so rigid Dean can feel the frustration coming off of him in waves, too overwhelming for him to even try to ignore. It mingles with his own sense of failure, leaves him restless and angry, and for a moment all he wants is to bark at Sam to suck it up, stop the car and drag his brother out and beat the living shit out of him if he doesn't comply. But he knows Sam can't help it--and it's his fault, his own _goddamn_ fault that innocent people are dead--so Dean just clutches the steering wheel harder instead, knuckles gone white and jaw working as he keeps his eyes on the road, the headlights barely making a dent in the darkness ahead. 

Ten minutes later--a fucking _lifetime_ later--they're in the motel's parking lot, and Sam doesn't even wait for the car to come to a full stop before he's yanking the passenger door open, long limbs spilling out, nervous energy following him like a wraith. Dean slams his door harder than he should as he gets out too, and he spares a brief, apologetic caress to the Impala's roof, then marches after Sam towards the acid green door of their room.

Sam crowds him at the door, and Dean's this close again to punching his sulking face in. His shoulders are aching, knotted and tired as if they've been carrying the weight of the world, and his hand shakes as he shoves the key in, relief washing over him as he hears the lock tumble, because it means he can put some distance between him and Sam and maybe cool off enough to actually manage some sleep tonight. 

He's barely inside the room when Sam pushes him hard against the wall, taut body pressing against his, Sam's breath puffing hot and erratic, too close to his face. Dean's too surprised to manage anything more than a startled gasp, and Sam takes full advantage of that fact to thrust his tongue inside Dean's mouth. It takes a few seconds for his brain to register that Sam--his baby _brother_ \--is kissing him, mouth hard and demanding against his, tongue licking and prodding, fucking his mouth with filthy-wet strokes, and the arousal that flares to life inside him is as shocking as a kick to the balls. He makes a sound, half denial and half want, and Sam answers him with a rough grind of his hips, the hard length of his brother's cock seeming to burn a hole through cotton and denim, imprinting the sensation forever into Dean's memory. 

"Sammy," Dean pleads, voice broken and desperate, but Sam doesn't let him get any further than that. Teeth bite sharply on his bottom lip, pain jolting through Dean as Sam draws blood, and then Sam is sucking on the bite, hips thrusting and grinding against his again and the pleasure is exquisite, aching and sweet all at once, making heat curl in the pit of his stomach. Dean's knees buckle, and it's a testament to how far gone he is when Sam holds him up and Dean doesn't even care, the feel of Sam's knuckles as they dig into his collarbone only ratcheting up his arousal. 

"Let me," Sam whispers as he mouths Dean's jaw, his tone urgent and needy, as if Dean hasn't been letting him all along. Sam's grip on his jacket loosens, his thigh pushing between Dean's to keep him from sliding to the floor, and Dean groans when Sam pinches one of his nipples through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and sends another jolt straight down to his groin. He can feel Sam's lips curve into a smile against his neck a moment before Sam's teeth nip at him again, tongue rasping against the sensitive skin, mouth sucking hard, and Dean can't stop himself--he's rocking against his brother now, hands fisted in Sam's shirt and pulling him closer, cock straining inside his jeans. "Let me," Sam whispers again, in his ear this time and Dean shudders, eyes sliding shut as Sam--who Dean is convinced must be reading his mind, thank god--pulls his aching cock free. 

"Look at me," his brother commands, and Dean obeys, opening his eyes to look at Sam. The room is dark, but in the meager light spilling in through the still open door Dean can make out the smear of blood on Sam's kiss-swollen lips--his blood, _their_ blood--and the sight makes his cock jump and his heart miss a beat. Sam reads him perfectly again, knee pushing up between Dean's legs as he works his cock free too, and then his huge hand is closing around them both, jerking them off together with fast, rough strokes, tongue demanding entrance into Dean's mouth again. 

There's nothing but pleasure then; nothing but the noises they're both making, ragged moans and sucking kisses, the obscene sound of their flesh rubbing together. Nothing but heat lapping at Dean's insides, Sam's panting breaths against his mouth, Sam's callused thumb against the head of his cock, nowhere to go but this, here, _now_ as Sam squeezes their cocks with a twisting motion on the upstroke and Dean comes hard, banging his head against the wall and fucking whimpering as he spurts all over his brother's hand. 

"Dean," Sam sobs, and Dean grabs the back of Sam's head and kisses him, tangles his fingers in his hair and fucks his brother's mouth with his tongue just like Sam fucked his earlier until he feels the slick-hot surge of Sam's cum against his cock. He holds his brother up as he shakes, helping him ride out his orgasm, foreheads pressed together and hips still moving in a faltering rhythm. 

After a while Dean's not sure anymore who's holding who up; Sam is heavy against him, the wall hard and unyielding behind him. Dean's t-shirt in plastered against his skin, damp with cooling sweat and semen, but it's still not uncomfortable enough to make him move. 

Because he doesn't know what happens next.


End file.
